


MOTN: Nhaama

by amandaterasu



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Character Turned Into Vampire, F/M, Human/Vampire Relationship, Period-Typical Racism, Period-Typical Sexism, Vampire Bites, Vampire Sex, Victorian Attitudes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-21
Updated: 2019-10-21
Packaged: 2020-12-31 08:08:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21125321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amandaterasu/pseuds/amandaterasu
Summary: A side fic for Music of the Night, a quick one shot for my friend @campdragonhead, detailing how her OC and Magnai met.





	MOTN: Nhaama

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Music of the Night](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21109850) by [amandaterasu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/amandaterasu/pseuds/amandaterasu). 

Magnai knelt beside his father's funeral pyre, and prayed for his blessing in the trial to come. His father, Great Khagan of Khans, had died in glorious battle against the Byzantines that day, and now, as Father Sun lowered his head in grief, he must prove himself a worthy successor. 

A wailing rose up as he stood, and they brought his mother forward. She looked at him with tired, red-rimmed eyes. "Do not make me stay," she said, with all the quiet dignity befitting a great Khatun. 

"You were his Nhaama," he replied. "I would not disrespect my own in such a way."

The others nodded their approval. Though Magnai had yet to find his Nhaama - the woman made for him by Mother Moon - he knew his every action must be done to honor her. Even this.

His mother knelt before the pyre, but looked up at him, one last time. "We were both so proud of you, Little Sun." It was a common jeer of his childhood, but said now with affection. "You will find her. I have seen it."

He nodded, and gripped his father's sword tightly in one hand. "Thank him for me, would you? For making me a warrior worthy of her." His mother nodded and bowed her head, pulling her hair aside so he could kill her in a single stroke.

* * *

They said the Byzantines had summoned a demon. One of the foul creations of Mother Moon, sent to terrorize Father Sun's children before they had found peace and love together. Though those ancient things had long been sealed away, sometimes fools would stumble across one and release it. 

Magnai, Khagan of Khans of the Oronir, was not afraid. He was the strongest of men - the most terrifying child of Father Sun. He would find and slay this demon, and keep it's skull. He would add it to the great lacquered chest he kept, full of gifts and trophies to give to his Nhaama, when he found her. Proof of his great deeds, so that she would know he was worthy. 

He did not expect the demon to find him first. Screams echoed from the women's tents, and he grabbed his axe and made his way toward the uproar. There it stood, surrounded by silk-clad bodies. Magnai's sisters. His brother's wives. Their children. It's long white hair flowed in the breeze, a rippling mass of moonlight made manifest. It's angry golden eyes, a mockery of Father Sun's light, took him in. "Finally. You mongrels send a real challenge."

* * *

**600 years later**

Magnai woke with a jerk just as the sun slipped past the horizon. He had dreamed of home again. Of his people, who they had been before they had been lost amidst the Qin, of his parents' death, of the first time he had met Solus, the one who turned him. He was on his way back to England after spending some time on the continent. Though no one else would remember, he was duty bound to pay homage to his people's ways, and had just finished his once-a-decade pilgrimage. 

He was a little hungry, but nothing too taxing, so he waited for an attendant to come check in on him, and lured the man into a docile state before feeding from his wrist. 

When the man woke from the haze, he shook his head. "Forgive me, my lord. Been a long day."

"Quite all right," Magnai replied. I'm just glad to be going-" shouts echoed down the train's steel-lined halls. "What is it?" 

The answer came not from the man's lips, but from the clanging bells that began to ring in every car, a discordant alarm to wake the dead. Too bad he was already up. 

"Train Robbery…" the man mumbled, and Magnai pushed him into the room behind him, letting the man fall across the lacquered chest he still took with him everywhere. His mother had said he would find her, and so he kept up the old ways still, even if no one else remembered.

Mother Moon's light filled the carriage, and that was the first time he saw _her_. Only for a moment. She was dressed as a man, with a scarf to hide her face, and a gun in her hand. But her eyes… they were the blue of moonlight on the snow-covered mountains of his home. They called to him, in this most unlikely of places, and he knew his mother had spoken true at last. 

Then she was gone, scuttling out the window while the guards beat after her, trying to catch the thief.

* * *

Rynn tumbled into the grass beside the train, and rolled to her feet before she took off running. Things had gone well, over all. A few hundred pounds, some jewelry. Now she needed to find somewhere to lie low until this mess blew over, then find a fence for the jewels, and then she'd be set. 

She shook her head again, trying to shake the feeling of unease. That strange oriental, the last few moments on the train. She couldn't get the way he stared at her out of her head. It was like he'd seen right through her. _Forget him _ she told herself. _You have more important matters._

* * *

Magnai strapped his axe across his back, and lifted the massive chest with one arm. Six centuries of escapades had made the thing painfully heavy - too heavy for a mortal man to lift - but he was immortal, and Magnai of the Oronir besides. He did not flinch as he threw himself from the moving train, and rushed after his Nhaama.

* * *

"Morgan!" Rynn pounded on the side door of the mansion. "Let me in!"

A servant opened the door. "Young lady! Mr. Morgan is not exp-" 

She slipped past the servant and into the great hall. "MORGAN!" 

The servant reached for her, but Nathaniel Morgan appeared at the top of the stairs. "It's fine, Theodore. Rynn, what are you doing here?" 

"Hiding from my problems," she said lowering the scarf. "I need a place to hide out."

"You know you can't stay, Rynn. I've told you before - either you go up for auction or you go somewhere else." Morgan bristled his moustache. 

"I literally just robbed a train. How much do you want to let me stay." She opened her satchel to show him her take. 

He snorted disdainfully. "You could make more than that in one night than a lifetime of delinquency." 

"Maybe, but then I'd have to deal with some creepy blueblood pawing at me constantly." She countered. 

"You're resourceful, Rynn. You know the constables turn a blind eye to the people who enter my auctions. They would forget you existed. Train robbing has serious consequences." He shrugged. "Make your choice."

Rynn glanced back at the door. Through the windows on either side, she could see two constables talking to… _that bloody Oriental_.

"Fine. But I get to keep the money, even if I kill him."

Morgan bowed his head. "Of course."

* * *

The constables were no help at all. As soon as he brought them to the dark house, they started shaking their heads, refusing to get involved. But he was Magnai! Khagan of Khans, Greatest Warrior of the Oronir. He would not be deterred. 

He pounded on the black door, and scowled at the servant who opened it. "Give me the woman."

"Sir, I-" 

Magnai caught the man's head in his long-fingered grasp. "GIVE. ME. THE. WOMAN." He repeated, slowly, as he pushed the man inside, then shut the door behind them both. 

Another man, with a bristling moustache, raised his eyebrows. "Are you here for the auction?" He asked. 

"I am here for the woman that just came in. Tall, wearing men's clothes. Beautiful eyes." 

"Ah. Yes. She's one of the items in the auction. I'm afraid no one may see her until the bidding." The moustached man smiled affably.

"She is not for sale." Magnai felt his anger coming on hot. His Nhaama was not a horse, to be bought and sold. 

"She has decided she is. If you wish to stay and place a bid on her, you are welcome to." 

"No one else may bid on her. I refuse to allow it."

"Whether or not you 'allow' anything is immaterial until you have won the auction. But come, let's see if we can extend you a line of credit Mr…?"

"Lord Magnai Oronir of Azim." He said formally. "Out on the moors."

"It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lord Oronir."

* * *

Magnai brooded in the back of the room. He'd had to call in a few favors by telegram, but he had a few million pounds of credit, and assurances that the woman would be available for purchase. It made him feel… strange, to think, even after all his centuries of conquest and exploration, that still was not enough to be worthy of her. He must also spend vast sums of money, make her wealthy beyond compare, before he could even exchange a few words with her. No wonder it had taken him so long to find her, if Mother Moon had set her worth so high.

He bit his lip as she strode out onto the stage and gave the audience a withering look, as though they were beneath her. It filled him with pride. His Nhaama should ever walk before the masses, secure in her worth as the beloved of the Khagan of khans. 

“We’ll start the bidding at five hundred thousand pounds.” Mr. Morgan said, and he raised his hand without question. As the number climbed, he felt himself becoming irritable. The servants had refused to let him bring his axe, but had not noticed the dagger in his suit pocket. How many men would he have to kill tonight, if the bidding went too high. Only one, it seemed, as another bidder kept pushing the number higher.

“Three point seven,” the other man said, and made a lewd gesture toward the woman on stage.

“Three point eight,” Magnai said, and rose from his seat, stalking toward the other man.

“Three point nine,” his opponent called.

“Four,” Magnai hissed, and pulled the long dagger out of his pocket, showing it to the man. “And if you attempt to raise it again I’ll have your tongue to add it to my chest.”

The man balked. “You can’t threaten me.”

“I just have.” Magnai turned and glared at Mr. Morgan. “_Four._”

You could hear a pin drop amongst the crowd while Mr. Morgan said the closing words on the auction.

* * *

_No, no this is all wrong. It’s not supposed to -_ Rynn’s mind was reeling. How had he found her here? The man from the train? Why was he so dogged in pursuit of her? Morgan had said she’d be safe from the authorities!

“Going once, going twice, sold, to Lord Oronir.” Morgan slammed his gavel down, and gave Rynn an affectionate smile. 

A servant took her hand and lead her off-stage, toward a sitting room. Once she was alone, Rynn lifted the bottom of her linen shift to her thigh and unholstered the gun she’d hidden there, making sure it was loaded. That Oriental bastard had another thing coming if he thought he was going to turn her in. She’d take her two million and move. Maybe book passage to America.

She tried not to think about the way her hands shook. She’d only have one chance at this. She’d have to get her letter of credit, kill him, then bolt.

A soft knock at the door took her attention, and she turned, hiding the gun behind her back as a clerk entered, with _that man_ behind him.

“Miss Rynn. Please, allow me to introduce the winner of your auction, Lord Magnai Oronir.”

The tall man bowed formally, but she kept her eye on the clerk. “Where’s my letter?”

“O-oh, right,” the clerk said feebly. “Mr. Morgan said you’d be rather insistent.” He opened the leather folio and pulled out a small envelope. “Two million, less administrative fees.”

The man, this… _Magnai_ watched her as she took the envelope and set it on the table behind her. “Is everything in order?” he asked the clerk.

“Yes.”

“Then leave us.” His tone was angry, clipped. He had a black chest painted with an intricate golden sun under one arm, incongruous with his suit.

The clerk bowed, and shut the door on his way out.

“Why are you following me?” the question slipped out before she could stop herself, and that was a clear sign she was afraid. Rynn always lost control of her tongue in fear.

“You are my Nhaama,” he said, as if that explained everything.

“Didn’t you hear him? My name is Rynn.”

“Rynn,” he repeated. “An unexpected name for one so valuable.”

“What do you mean?”

“The ones beyond the eastern sea. They use the word ‘rin’ for their smallest coin. Or did, last time I was there. It would translate to ‘pence’ by your understanding, I suppose.”

“Well, it’s my name, and you can live with it.” For all that her words were brave, the voice that spoke them shook as much as she did. His eyes seemed to pin her to the spot, with some unreadable, passionate expression. “I’m going to leave now,” she said.

“No. You will stay until my carriage is ready. I have hunted for you across continents, across _lifetimes_. I will not lose sight of you again.” He took a step toward her, and she reacted instinctively.

Rynn pulled the gun from behind her back, aimed for his head, and fired. She heard a soft _ping_, as it ricocheted off his skull, and shattered the mirror behind her. Her heart froze in shock, but she still pulled the hammer back again, and fired at his chest, his legs, until she got nothing but clicks from the empty revolver. She knew all six shots had hit him - she could see the drops of blood and tears in his nice suit. 

His smile grew, and he set the chest down on the ground with a loud thump. “Six centuries of trophies are not enough for you. The death of my people, my culture, my religion, is not enough for you. Three continents and ten lifetimes are not enough for you.” He moved closer, taking the empty gun from her shaking hands. “Four million pounds is not enough for you. A flight across this strange city, and six bullets, aimed true, and it is still not enough to be worthy of _you_.” He brushed her curls back from her face with a cold but tender caress. “Tell me what more you would have, my Nhaama. What will it take for you to give yourself to me?”

_Oh,_ she realized. _He’s insane._

* * *

Magnai had never seen a woman so magnificent. She was tall and thin, like the poplars of his homeland, and her hair a riot of dark-golden curls, like fields of wheat kissed by Father Sun. And the way she faced him bravely, still fighting, despite the speed of her heart and the trembling in her hands… He sighed, wistfully. His people would never have fallen if he had found her in life, with such a khatun by his side. But he was not worthy of her, then, and was barely worthy of her now.

“Please, Rynn, answer me.” He said. “What will it take for you to come to me willingly?”

“You have nothing I want,” she said, but he reached for her anyway, and he could feel her ribs through the roughspun shift. He could see the hollowness in her cheeks from a lifetime of survival, but not living.

He put his arms around her and lifted her onto the side table, despite her tiny fists battering at him. “I’m not so sure that’s true,” he replied. “I have an estate, in need of a lady. I have a larder full of food. I have servants that must be commanded, and wealth that must be spent. And I have a bed, that has been empty for _far_ too long.” He pushed her shift up past her thighs, and dragged his fingernails, long and filed sharp like claws, along her hips. 

“Wait…” She furrowed her brow at him. “You’re looking for a wife?”

He shook his head. “I found you. I am not looking for you any longer.” He let his head drop to her neck and he licked it, enjoying the mingling flavors of skin and sweat and gunpowder. “Tell me what you would have.”

* * *

His tongue was as cold as the rest of him, sliding along her skin, and she swallowed anxiously. A little voice whispered in the back of her mind, murmuring about her desires. What _did_ she want?

“What will it take?” he had asked. Ever one for a bargain, Rynn contemplated the question. What would it take for her to stay with him?

His hands became more insistent, one of them pulling her to the edge of the side table while the other moved to his trousers. She felt a sudden sharp pain in her neck, but a moment later it was gone, and she felt much more languid than she had a moment before. Much more… soft.

“I want to be safe,” she said, unsure why she was answering him now. “I want to be able to sleep without a gun under my pillow and a knife in my hand.” This strange man, Magnai, nodded, but didn’t lift his mouth from her skin. “I want wealth. The dresses, the servants, the parties, I want all of it. I don’t ever want to worry about having enough to eat, a place to sleep. If I want to travel, we travel. If I want to stay home, we stay home. I’m the one in charge.” She said, and trembled. His kiss on her neck was intense, and it felt like she was being pulled apart through it. 

She almost whimpered when he pulled away, and murmured in her ear, “One condition.” 

“What?” she asked, though the word came out in a huff as he thrust himself inside her. His cock was as cold as his hands, that held her hips still so she could not escape him. 

"All that is true when we are with others. But when we are alone? You are mine to bend, to break, to use as I please." As if to punctuate his meaning, he pushed her back against the broken mirror, and she could feel the shards of glass bite into her skin. 

"You'll kill me," she whispered. 

"But I will always bring you back. It is the heart of our agreement. The central command of my faith. If you find true death, I will seek it not long after. If I die," he groaned in the back of his throat as she put her arms around his neck and pulled herself against him. "If I die, you will do the same. We are not to be alone, in life or death or what comes after, now that I have found you." 

Magnai was definitely insane, Rynn decided, but she certainly enjoyed it.

"Acceptable," she murmured into his dark hair. 

He let himself climax inside her, surrounded by broken glass and blood. "Are you ready to die?" Magnai asked her as he pulled her shift apart to bare her shoulders. 

"Are you ready to bring me back?" Rynn countered. 

He brought his wrist to his mouth and tore it open with his teeth, then held it, welling with near-black blood, to her lips. "Drink," he commanded.

It was the first time she noticed his fangs.

* * *

"I don't know when, exactly, I fell in love with him," Rynn confessed to the bound and gagged man in her parlor at Azim. "Maybe it was when he took me to the mountains where he was born. Or when he let himself be burned by sunlight to close the curtains when I was late to bed…" she sighed dreamily. "It doesn't matter. I am his Nhaama. He only feeds from me." 

She looked down at the squirming man and smiled. "And we are both very hungry."

**Author's Note:**

> If you like my writing feel free to check out my twitter @amandaterasu!


End file.
